tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967950484322577122024-03-14T05:37:53.157-07:00The Thousand Lives of John ZeleznikThe writing blog of YA and fantasy novelist John ZeleznikJohn Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.comBlogger238125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-55342459680392122712024-02-29T20:14:00.000-08:002024-02-29T20:14:14.124-08:00Am I A Pantser?<p> Something made me decide to listen to Brandon Sanderson's lecture series on YouTube. I don't know why, but I thought that I'm sure there was something I could learn from him by listening to what he had to say. I didn't get twenty minutes in before I had a profound moment. He said something that shocked me out of my seat almost shaking me to my core. And with one simple statement he may have explained my long malaise. He was explaining the difference between planners and pantsers. For the uninitiated, a planner is a writer that plans everything they write, famously called architects by George RR Martin, and pantsers are writers that write "by the seat of their pants" with no plan, GRRM calls them gardeners and he alongside Stephen King are the two most famous pantsers out there. I always considered myself planner until now. </p><p>During his explanation, he said, "For a lot of gardeners, if you have an outline, and you work a lot on your outline, what happens is your brain feels like you've already written the story."</p><p>Holy crap, that hit hard. </p><p>I began to wonder if that's been my problem. The last three projects I've had , I wrote relatively detailed narrative-style outlines for them and I struggled with all of them. I think that deep down inside I was thinking exactly what Sanderson had said. I started to wonder, "Am I a Panster?" The very thought made me shudder. It can't be. It's impossible. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0ssV6LmRg3n3lnqiha4bzPAi-BL0LPXKqJV2YjnVnmHkGhaPmp_hvG7tkN_uJ9fAvPb0ilqHYmgLN8eybYPIvLnGKn6NnOjOGmGOiuUwQ2UD4rplhbDgXbChZglqdWK8wNFl6Hnk4-5RWkL3DWJTmrfJP1ErsxtXQtohlCx-SvAcLACZRcao3ZglqLJi/s1024/What-Can-You-Wear-With-Cargo-Pants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1024" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0ssV6LmRg3n3lnqiha4bzPAi-BL0LPXKqJV2YjnVnmHkGhaPmp_hvG7tkN_uJ9fAvPb0ilqHYmgLN8eybYPIvLnGKn6NnOjOGmGOiuUwQ2UD4rplhbDgXbChZglqdWK8wNFl6Hnk4-5RWkL3DWJTmrfJP1ErsxtXQtohlCx-SvAcLACZRcao3ZglqLJi/s320/What-Can-You-Wear-With-Cargo-Pants.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I am a pantser, I'm more a cargo pantser!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>All of my books have been outlined, no matter how vague said outlines might have been, there was always a plan in place, detailing the shape and direction of the story with full permission to deviate from said plan as I see fit. I've always had a beginning and some vague notion of the end. But now I'm beginning to wonder if I am a planner or am I actually a pantser? Is this why I've been failing lately starting and finishing new projects? I don't know what they answer is, but Sanderson's words definitely have left a mark on me. It's made me question my entire method of writing, even if just for a few moments. </p><p>What does this all mean? I'm not sure. I don't actually think that I'm a pantser. I need a plan to write. Maybe I'm something of a hybrid that is actually a planner with pantser tendencies. Whatever I am, I need to figure out this malaise and finish something. I mean, I'm a writer for crying out loud. </p><p><br /></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-79822874761901997922024-02-26T18:14:00.000-08:002024-02-26T18:14:29.124-08:00Seeking Perfection<p> I just finished reading a book titled<i> Seven Short Sentences About Writing</i> by Verlyn Klinkenborg and was struck by it. An interesting little book that is exactly what it says on the label and it's filled with tons of bite-sized nuggets of writing wisdom. It almost reads like a book of poetry. There's some good stuff in it and hoity-toity stuff in it as well. A few of the passages really grabbed me though and one read like Mr. Klinkenborg had been reading my blog. This one isn't a short sentence really but rather a list:</p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> "</span>Think of all the requirements writers imagine for themselves:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">A cabin in the woods</p></blockquote></blockquote><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A plain wooden table</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Absolute silence</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A fountain pen</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A favorite ink</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A favorite blank book</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A favorite typewriter</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A favorite laptop</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A favorite writing program</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A large advance</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A yellow pad</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A wastebasket</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A shotgun</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> The early light of morning</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> The moon at night</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A rainy afternoon</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A thunderstorm with high winds</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> The first snow of winter</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A cup of coffee in just the right cup</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A beer</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A mug of green tea</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> A bourbon</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Solitude</span></p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Soon or later the need for any one of these will prevent you from writing."</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAKX4EOl7NC0JprGFYJTs_oK_iOQ5PAwAvqmEfWNsleTjO3-jIy8YoAuLUz1xbzMMgiwmKLyZ4pFBhKrqsvanOsNQPILWeQmQQmCtkfG7yZ7pB5VWoBrVQpAxzlqQAQczx9OMLz2JYZ0o7El7xUpCHw3-bMJHUZZNlPba3ZFYCPUOga2fYotVEk22jbdq/s800/strzelby-asg-sprezynowe-replika-strzelby-st870-long-real-wood-s-t-1627356(1-1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="490" data-original-width="800" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAKX4EOl7NC0JprGFYJTs_oK_iOQ5PAwAvqmEfWNsleTjO3-jIy8YoAuLUz1xbzMMgiwmKLyZ4pFBhKrqsvanOsNQPILWeQmQQmCtkfG7yZ7pB5VWoBrVQpAxzlqQAQczx9OMLz2JYZ0o7El7xUpCHw3-bMJHUZZNlPba3ZFYCPUOga2fYotVEk22jbdq/w400-h245/strzelby-asg-sprezynowe-replika-strzelby-st870-long-real-wood-s-t-1627356(1-1).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure who needs a shotgun before writing. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Oof. Talk about a punch to the gut. This nails that feeling I had when I wrote about <a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2024/01/corona-futura-and-stephen-kings-wang.html">typewriters</a> and <a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2024/01/my-own-space.html">writing sheds</a> and <a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2024/01/properly-attired.html">the wardrobe of writers</a>. (Well, I mean, I've never needed a shotgun for anything let alone writing!) I'm seeking perfection where perfection doesn't matter. But in reality, they are nothing more than distractions. It's never going to be perfect and I need to come to grips with that. Things are never going to be perfect when writing and they don't need to be. Much like the writing itself doesn't need to be perfect. It's all about getting these ideas on paper. Or through a keyboard. And that's where my focus should be, not on building a writer's shed or wearing the right clothes when I'm writing. I've got to get the ideas out of my brain and to their destination. I can worry about perfection later. </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote></blockquote><p style="text-align: left;"></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-38015833729967816252024-01-23T09:37:00.000-08:002024-01-23T09:37:12.234-08:00Earning Turns Revisited<p>It's snowing in Syracuse today. This is not news. Actually, it's pretty standard for January. I always get a little melancholic when it snows because I can't ski anymore. But I've talked about this before when I wrote <a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2018/02/earning-turns.html">"Earning Turns"</a> a few years back. "Earn you turns" is a skiing term that means a skier has skied the "back country" by hiking up a mountain then skiing down it. I didn't know this when I wrote my first post so many years ago but I don't regret it. My kids were earning their turns in their own way and while skiing didn't grab them the way it grabbed me, I was glad that I exposed them to it. The expression "earn your turns" got me thinking though. When you think about it a little, it's a great metaphor for writing. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQ-kG7husAD-bXUHj38NR_7RPxXq4qprgd_MgKPII1i5nXJZrbLIOUDxSzukh_0R8t53cCOx5D5EkUP4rCNiE7aE4rEHnPIhL77LmW9f7LirX0ds2M2egqfYPv48vLqmral0wrSw_H1I3MXbXuiwK2Np_BpNCfboXxocXYFr-CfCqP_h78OJxqvS1syxm/s1024/image-6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQ-kG7husAD-bXUHj38NR_7RPxXq4qprgd_MgKPII1i5nXJZrbLIOUDxSzukh_0R8t53cCOx5D5EkUP4rCNiE7aE4rEHnPIhL77LmW9f7LirX0ds2M2egqfYPv48vLqmral0wrSw_H1I3MXbXuiwK2Np_BpNCfboXxocXYFr-CfCqP_h78OJxqvS1syxm/s320/image-6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>When you start writing, you're in the wilderness, hiking up the mountain in hopes of finding the perfect run that no one has ever taken before. Or at the very least one that only a few people have so you can make your own mark. There's an anticipation and nervousness that comes with the unknown as a new project looms and you stumble your way through the bleakness, seeking and searching. Then you find it. That perfect run. The one that had been eluding you. A blank sheet of snow stretching out, ready for you to carve up how you see fit. It's familiar but intimidating. The first step is the hardest but once you take it, everything comes back to you in a rush. The silence of a winter's morn is replaced by the creak of a boot and the whisper of the skis on the snow. The tautness gives way to muscle memory as you guide the seventy plus inches of fiberglass through the snow. Stone and tree blur by and you feel a sense of accomplishment as you complete the run. You can't help but look back at what you've done and feel some pride that you did it. The entire process is never quite easy and if you're doing it right it should be a little difficult. It's like the quote from<i> A League of Their Own, </i>"It's supposed to be hard, if it wasn't hard everyone would do it. The hard is what makes it great." </p><p>I think it's a damn fine metaphor, if you ask me. So, let's go earn some turns and get some writing done. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-69641853593613353002024-01-21T20:26:00.000-08:002024-01-21T20:26:50.132-08:00Properly AttiredWhile I was down the <a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2024/01/corona-futura-and-stephen-kings-wang.html">rabbit hole</a> of looking at <a href="https://site.xavier.edu/polt/typewriters/typers.html">writers and their typewriters</a>, something caught my eye in the photos. Not the typewriters or any other technology they use, but rather the way they were dressed. No, seriously. It sounds like a silly thing to notice but it made me think of the adage "dress for the job you want not the job you have." <div><br /></div><div>Almost everyone in the photos is well put together. Men at the very least in slacks and button down shirts, often with ties and sports coats. Sometimes in a smart looking sweater or cardigan. (I truly believe after my yearly viewing of the beginning of the year <i>Twilight Zone </i>marathon that cardigans and sweater vests need to make a comeback.) Women almost all wore skirts and blouses with pearls, usually in flats with the occasional pair of heels. The most frequent accessory besides their typewriters? Cigarettes. Lots of cigarettes. But there was more. </div><div><br /></div><div>Mixed in was your occasional pair of jeans (David Letterman), flip-flops (Ian Fleming of all people), and some hats (Terry Pratchett, Damon Runyon, Will Self). Mickey Spillane liked to show off his guns. Hunter S. Thompson wore shorts and often eschewed shirts. Hemingway and Fitzgerald wrote in their pajamas. George RR Martin has his Greek fisherman's hat and suspenders while David Foster Wallace liked bandanas and Joan Didion had her sunglasses. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgudf7-TGmCGcCn0DSiNrSf4wBOOFALfVtfi0r5eO61O4GPSnAc117qqDe-_42CCjCsqAXf5FWyYtE_Ca8DHafxv5DsI7fgauXyEQuT0cJBDEgo10U7yP2bm_cGHuibvXgo6oYw_GiP30vrm3UomoJArLLR93Gim1bXuOOI8RhxZv8VIqLDiJ-57zpAdC2V/s366/mickeyspillane.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="286" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgudf7-TGmCGcCn0DSiNrSf4wBOOFALfVtfi0r5eO61O4GPSnAc117qqDe-_42CCjCsqAXf5FWyYtE_Ca8DHafxv5DsI7fgauXyEQuT0cJBDEgo10U7yP2bm_cGHuibvXgo6oYw_GiP30vrm3UomoJArLLR93Gim1bXuOOI8RhxZv8VIqLDiJ-57zpAdC2V/s320/mickeyspillane.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually, we have a lot in common when it comes to writing attire.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>It got me thinking about the way that I dress, especially when I write. I dress like a schlub. I have a schlubs's physique. I'm tall, hunchbacked with a big belly. I have relatively broad shoulders but recent years of neglect have ebbed away any muscle that I once had hiding under the soft exterior. Most of my wardrobe consists of jeans, sweatpants, athletic shorts and formless tops like sweatshirts, henleys and t-shirts. I'm not exactly ready for my candid typewriter shot. Usually, when I'm writing, it's later at night and I'm in a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. What job am I dressing for? </div><div><br /></div><div>It amazes me the things that I notice about writing when I'm not writing. Why would I focus on what writers wear when they write? Why would I think that was important? Maybe it's my quest for that writing ideal. The perfect tool. The perfect place. The perfect writing attire. The prefect writing scenario. Something that probably doesn't exist. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-33379796129791498252024-01-16T13:55:00.000-08:002024-01-21T18:58:55.556-08:00My Own Space<p>Recently, instead of writing or grading, like I should be doing, I found myself researching sheds. It became something of an obsession and occupied my time. Now I'm not talking about the kind of sheds most of us have in our back yards, filled to the brim with lawn supplies, tools and old Christmas decorations. No, I'm talking about a comfy place sequestered from the rest of the house just for myself. A place to get away and write. It's really a romantic but completely unfeasible notion. But a boy can dream can't he?</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBW0mgCOGgUQw1CAQ_zJpLxHdTakQwvuoEYLLHCvnocVhaEK3KzB-4YgU8sLDbne4MeBuuOjhj-1mQZfl05WnDd_l2d8OuXunVM8-D316NGWR0mRpAusv4Qyrgl3KCzHcTm8s0hEY6NnlCBskN405wC4BDRfa9aGvFPFUA7_z8Qy25GVu3D9hY9YT-SYM/s900/img-sheds-hero.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="900" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBW0mgCOGgUQw1CAQ_zJpLxHdTakQwvuoEYLLHCvnocVhaEK3KzB-4YgU8sLDbne4MeBuuOjhj-1mQZfl05WnDd_l2d8OuXunVM8-D316NGWR0mRpAusv4Qyrgl3KCzHcTm8s0hEY6NnlCBskN405wC4BDRfa9aGvFPFUA7_z8Qy25GVu3D9hY9YT-SYM/s320/img-sheds-hero.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like that it has a porch.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>This all started when I read online that Wes Anderson had replicated to the tiniest detail the writing hut of Roald Dahl for his Netflix short films. I started to wonder about writing places and, as is my wont, fell down a pretty big rabbit hole. There's a lot out there about writer's sheds. Names like George Bernard Shaw, Dylan Thomas (who inspired Dahl in the first place), Mark Twain, Virginia Woolf and, of course, Henry David Thoreau (even though his mother did his laundry and brought him sandwiches) all had sheds, shacks or huts where they wrote. Neil Gaiman has his gazebo. Chuck Wendig has his "<a href="https://terribleminds.com/ramble/2015/01/04/witness-the-power-of-this-fully-armed-and-operational-writing-shed/">mystery box</a>." Yann Martel has his <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/16/t-magazine/entertainment/novelist-yann-martel-writing-studio.html">back yard writing studio</a>. Eoin Colfer and David McCullough sought refuge from busy families in their own writing sheds. Michael Pollan wrote an entire <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13838.A_Place_of_My_Own?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=Uw7lyVjLAz&rank=1">book</a> about the entire enterprise of building a shed for his writing on his property. And it's made me want one of my own. I just feel like I need a writing space all to myself. </p><p>I'm fascinated by the idea of writer's spaces in general. There's an entire Instagram account and hashtag about writer's spaces and I can't stop looking at it. I want a cool space to work in. I don't really have one now or maybe it's that I just don't use the space I have properly. I do most of my writing from the comfort of my couch and I wonder if that's part of the problem (though it worked for Truman Capote and Stephen Sondheim). Maybe I'm not a couch writer. Maybe I need to be at a desk or a table. I've found great success writing at my kitchen counter, though that gets uncomfortable after a while. I do well in cafes and I wrote most of this sitting at a rickety table in a cold room at the back of the school. </p><p>I do have a great little desk/alcove in my study that's perfect for writing. I haven't used as much as I should, for no good reason. Maybe it's time to change that. I mean there's no way my wife is going to let me plop a fourth shed in our backyard (and who could blame her?), so I'll have to make due with what I have. Plus, who wants to trudge across the backyard on a cold, snowy kind of day like today? I need to make that space my own. </p><p>I started this process before the holidays. I bought a really nice chair that I'm not putting together until I finish a few other around the house projects. I can't use the folding chair that's in there now because of my back. I still have to finish tidying it up and organizing a few things. I'll be sharing the space with my daughter so I won't be alone in the room but at least I won't be on the couch. It's not perfect and I'm sure there will be some bump along the way, but I think in the long run it'll work. It'll focus me on what I need to do, be that writing or grading. Speaking of which, I have some grading to do. I suppose that the kitchen counter will have to do, for now.</p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-59021856222286749192024-01-14T17:53:00.000-08:002024-01-14T18:53:02.484-08:00Corona, Futura and Stephen King's Wang<p>My friend Brian uses a typewriter (1938 Corona Sterling) and recently sent me a bit of correspondence using said typewriter. To be honest, it was kind of cool. It's been a long time since I'd read/seen something typewritten. I thought about how I should respond. I thought about using my own typewriter (a Royal Futura 800, gifted to me by my friend Justin) but after a long side eye from the wife, I decided to just send him an email in return. But it did get me thinking about typewriters and the tools we use to write. </p><p>When you think about it, until relatively recently most "writing" was done on typewriters. There are still some writers that still use typewriters not unlike my Futura or Brian's Corona. And we're talking about people that don't write small books. David McCullough, Robert Caro, Cormac McCarthy and even Danielle Steel. I think about my last <a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2023/12/doorstoppers-and-fanfic.html">post</a>. How much of <i>Wheel of Time</i> was written on a typewriter? I mean great googly moogly, that's a lot of paper. That's a lot of ribbon. That's a lot of time. </p><p>There's almost a romance to it. The sounds alone: the platen makes when you roll the paper in, the click-clack tapping of the keys, the typebar hitting the paper, the ding at the end of the line and the thunk of the carriage return lever. But there's also a sense of labor in typing. A sense of satisfaction by the end of the page that you've done the work. </p><p>A few nights ago I fell down a rabbit hole, looking at pictures of <a href="https://site.xavier.edu/polt/typewriters/typers.html">famous writers/artists/celebrities and their typewriters</a>. It was fascinating and interesting to see. This was the way people used to work. Computers for the purpose of word processing is a pretty new thing. One, I think, that we take for granted. It's made writing a novel something anyone can do anywhere they could do it. It's said that Stephen King was an early adopter of this digital revolution, using a Wang Word Processor by the early 80s. (A $12,000 piece of equipment at the time.) I read somewhere that King may have been the first author to have a novel published that was written entirely on a computer. (A simple Google search seems to refute this, but it's still a cool piece of mythology.)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZkoDhYkwuo09LXlkNwfXxHjbpsqBLFGGJOvqx8la0ejJ8rCmg2IpZpqcckU8cu4MMq_HIMPr7TX19-Cga430ftww-jamqEuzTygrm1SLEe02KbYgsSAeX9IW4nDHgA7tqlF1quUasCUFMf3tElJfhONKXV_uk-HuxxJ-9amg829Czvmng-fVRZuBJPsv/s960/k8162kiryk7a1.webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="950" data-original-width="960" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZkoDhYkwuo09LXlkNwfXxHjbpsqBLFGGJOvqx8la0ejJ8rCmg2IpZpqcckU8cu4MMq_HIMPr7TX19-Cga430ftww-jamqEuzTygrm1SLEe02KbYgsSAeX9IW4nDHgA7tqlF1quUasCUFMf3tElJfhONKXV_uk-HuxxJ-9amg829Czvmng-fVRZuBJPsv/w320-h317/k8162kiryk7a1.webp" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stephen King and his Wang</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Besides paper and ink, I've only ever used computers, mostly using Microsoft Word. (I'm sure in my younger days we owned a typewriter and I tried to write using that, because that's what writers did in the late 80s/early 90s.) I've used other word processors. Google Docs is incredibly useful and a back up when I need it. I tried Scrivener but found it overwhelming. Even George RR Martin, one of my literary idols, uses Word Star 4.0, a 30 year old word processing program that runs on DOS and from what I've seen it looks almost as unwieldy as Scrivener. I've never had a huge issue with Word and I've grown accustomed to it. I have other friends that swear by other things. Some even use typewriters. </p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-86991453698693724132023-12-15T14:05:00.000-08:002023-12-15T14:05:39.805-08:00Doorstoppers and FanficA few weeks back I was putzing around, watching <i>Bob's Burgers</i> with the TV Tropes website open as I watched the episode. I do this often, enjoying how writers use (and misuse) tropes in their work. I have strong opinions on tropes that I'll share another time. That's not what this post is about. It's about a specific trope that I came across on the website as the adventures of the Belcher family played in the background. I found myself reading the page dedicated to Doorstoppers and there went the rest of my night as I fell down this deep rabbit hole. <div><br /></div><div>According to TV Tropes, a "Doorstopper" is a book that is literally heavy enough to stop a door. A proper doorstopper is no less than 500 pages, that's about 150,000 words with a normal sized typeface though most use a smaller font to fit more words on paper likely pushing that to number closer to 250,000 words. That's the number that TV Tropes uses as the minimum to define a doorstopper. That works for me, so we'll use that number. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmQOeNuOaYbi7TmJmyD6-e4CmFQTK2AMs_jMe8hFAtsBDhFWuhWBrO7zvXJ8SNh7xBjSLrqL_cIhkXa1ll9ECUVohyphenhyphenM0cM6706U8m_Gk0eYSlYrcSL5Q0zdBGp5hz5bVl2XlHSLjYLuKlorGEmti0zshHWwky6IWIsnvuvClCRe1w02msBIxh9cXKCzjn/s4032/IMG_4460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYmQOeNuOaYbi7TmJmyD6-e4CmFQTK2AMs_jMe8hFAtsBDhFWuhWBrO7zvXJ8SNh7xBjSLrqL_cIhkXa1ll9ECUVohyphenhyphenM0cM6706U8m_Gk0eYSlYrcSL5Q0zdBGp5hz5bVl2XlHSLjYLuKlorGEmti0zshHWwky6IWIsnvuvClCRe1w02msBIxh9cXKCzjn/s320/IMG_4460.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3.8 million words of doorstopping goodness.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I perused the entries. the Literature one hit all the classics you know and love. Dumas, Trollope, Michener, Dickens, Dostoevsky, Tolkein, Follet and modern writers like Brandon Sanderson, Robert Jordan, Stephen King and, of course, George RR Martin. I've obviously read my share of doorstoppers. I mean <i>A Song of Ice and Fire </i>is hugely important to me. I've read <i>It</i> and <i>The Dark Tower </i>series. I made it about 2/3 of the way through <i>Winter's Heart</i> in <i>The Wheel of Time</i> before I made a bold decision to start the series all over and read from the beginning. (It's been 20 years since I read <i>The Eye of the World.</i>) But a knew a lot of the entries in the Literature section. It was another section that caught me off guard. </div><div><br /></div><div>I opened the tab for Fan Works and, boy, was I quickly overwhelmed. Not only by the number of entries but by some of the word counts. Great googly moogly. The tab is split into smaller tabs labeled Over 2 million words, Over 1 million words, Over 500k words and Over 250k words. I was flabbergasted by the numbers. Someone wrote 16 million words of fan fiction dedicated to the Nickelodeon show <i>The Loud House</i>. To put that into perspective, that's FOUR <i>Wheel of Times</i>. Not four books but four of the ENTIRE SERIES. There's a lot-and I mean A LOT-of <i>My Little Pony. </i>I did a little research. I found someone that wrote 2 million words of <i>MASH</i> fanfic and someone else that 1.3 million words of <i>Dallas</i> fanfic. (These were strictly found on Fanfiction.net. I didn't even attempt to check AAO3.)</div><div><br /></div><div>On Fanfiction.net there are over 600 words of 800,000 words or more. That's a lot of passion for an IP. I mean 800,000 words is about 2,700 double spaced writing pages (Times New Roman, 12 point font). That's incredible. That's a lot of time and energy. That's a lot of love and devotion. the level of commitment it takes to write this much is titanic, no matter the topic. And it seems to me to be a waste. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have an antagonistic relationship with fan fiction. I've never been a fan of it. Technically, you are stealing the blood, sweat and tears of another author. I know that's a little melodramatic but it's kind of true. That's the way I feel about my work. I know that there are plenty of writers, especially genre writers, that got their start writing fanfic and there are others that wholly endorse fanfic of their own work. I'm not so innocent, I suppose. My earliest attempts at writing were little more than <i>Lord of the Rings/Dragonlance</i> fanfic with the serial numbers barely filed off. But even then, it was my own world, my own characters and ultimately my own story. It turns out I was just using the same tropes from those properties. I wasn't using Middle Earth as a setting and despite the likeness I didn't have a character named Tanis Half-Elven. If you are going to spend the amount of energy it takes to write 16 million words of fanfic, why not on something original? Or, at the very least, something that could be called an homage or pastiche of the thing you love. It seems to me to be a better use of energy. I've written about shared DNA before and find that to be far more digestible a concept than fan fiction.</div><div><br /></div><div>But who am I? Maybe I'm just being a Grumpy Gus. I try not to be a goalie in life. As long as you aren't hurting anyone, why should I stand in your way? (There's an argument to be made that you are hurting the original author with fanfic, but I'm not here to make it.) I'm all for writing in any form, especially if you derive happiness from it. </div>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-42858318138674963782023-06-28T19:23:00.010-07:002023-06-28T19:25:08.709-07:00Peculiarity<p> The other day I was thinking about my father. He died a little over a year ago and I still have plenty of thoughts about him, though they come in dribs and drabs at the weirdest times. I haven't publicly written about his death and I'm not sure why. I've written about my father before and God knows I'm not afraid of sharing in this space, but lately I haven't had much to say period, let alone about my father's passing. And I don't have to anything to say about it right now. This is more about a memory that I have of him. A very peculiar memory. </p><p>The last few years he spent the summers at our house and at night my son and I would sit with him while he watched television. It was nice and I relished that time. Not that it was just me and my dad but that it was all three of us. It gave my son a chance to get to know him and spend some time with him. We'd sit around and shoot the shit, remembering the past and talking about a wide array of topics, as we were wont to do. </p><p>But it was during these times that some of my father's peculiarities showed. He watched a peculiar variety of shows. We'd spend plenty of time watching <i>American Pickers</i> or a wide variety of those car repair/rebuilding shows. But as I've said before, <a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2017/06/on-fathers-dreams-and-regret.html">my father is a paradox </a>and on top of those shows, my father loved genre television. Cowboy shows were a staple as was scifi. He was a regular viewer of this guy called <a href="https://www.metv.com/svengoolie/">Svengoolie</a>, where I watched FRANKENSTEIN, DRACULA and the ever classic ABBOT AND COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN with him. I also remember watching the Americanized version of the 1954 GODZILLA movie featuring Raymond Burr. And it's Raymond Burr that got me thinking about one of my father's strangest peculiarities. </p><p>My father also like procedurals like SHERLOCK (BBC version), LAW & ORDER: CRIMINAL INTENT and, in particular, the old PERRY MASON starring Raymond Burr. The first time I sat down and watched it with him (to be fair, I was on my laptop writing or putzing around on Twitter) my father did something I found bizarre. As the show came to it's climactic end when they trial was about to be decided, he turned the station. I was taken aback. I looked up at him and thought he was just messing with me, but he didn't acknowledge my befuddlement and, being who I am, I said nothing to him in return. This became the habit. We'd watch 55 minutes of PERRY MASON and my dad would switch channels for the last five minutes. We never watched the resolution of a case. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWAhHkkYsLMjAIFQWgzvUHiVlnCaMrLNjappiWmDTnGZLCO6WekKidiZMhIi0txvor2O6GY5r5hzOPlEeqHI3NYjnLl-agJGAGybziTceKIzJUkaWcobNYIkMFxFu6ajc7ocImSIT-laPrMNLcnnlM0kSKuhtySEH8DjqFUN6onQd7_EOZovdVjAcyRZg/s639/520px-Raymond_Burr_Barbara_Hale_Perry_Mason_1958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="520" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdWAhHkkYsLMjAIFQWgzvUHiVlnCaMrLNjappiWmDTnGZLCO6WekKidiZMhIi0txvor2O6GY5r5hzOPlEeqHI3NYjnLl-agJGAGybziTceKIzJUkaWcobNYIkMFxFu6ajc7ocImSIT-laPrMNLcnnlM0kSKuhtySEH8DjqFUN6onQd7_EOZovdVjAcyRZg/s320/520px-Raymond_Burr_Barbara_Hale_Perry_Mason_1958.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Now I know that Perry Mason almost always won and I always wondered if that was part of my father's reasoning. But I found it so frustrating. And the lack of explanation just made it worse. I never pressed or pushed. Maybe I didn't want an explanation. Maybe the wondering was more interesting to me. Maybe he already knew the ending. Maybe he was more interested in the investigation and didn't really care about the ending. Maybe my dad was just peculiar. </p><p>It's weird quirks that I remember about my dad. And maybe being peculiar is what makes us memorable. </p><p><br /></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-77895909934198296272023-02-11T09:31:00.003-08:002023-02-13T17:40:45.668-08:00Eureka Euphoria<p>I didn't want to get out of bed Friday morning. I stayed up too late and was tired. But, as I do everyday, I got up, got ready for work and trudged out the door to my truck. Then something happened that was entirely unexpected, a spark lit in my brain and I had a moment. </p><p>I've been struggling writing for the last several months. I have one project that I've completely outlined. I've told myself the story but I can't decide which POV style to use and it's completely frozen the process. I've also been wrestling with another story idea for months. It wasn't so much an idea as a notion. It wasn't quite coalescing into something the way that I would have liked. It was elusive, just at the edges of my subconscious, and it was frustrating. I just really struggled to write. I tried forcing the idea out and it resisted. It wasn't ready yet. That was until yesterday morning, in my truck as I drove to school. The notion just clicked together like so many Legos and became a idea then an honest to goodness writing project. </p><p>Don't get me wrong. It's still early in development. It could just shrivel up and die on the vine like so many other projects. But the bones are there, it just needs to be put together. And I think I'm up to the task. As I'm conceptualizing the idea, putting it together in my brain, something else happened. A brand new idea came strolling in through the mists of my mind. It was jolting. </p><p>The second idea is completely different than the first and it came in fully formed. Shockingly so. It wasn't a notion or a concept, it was a fully formed idea. Sold. Tangible. And I couldn't believe it. Endorphins were released. I was overjoyed. I rushed to work to get the ideas on paper before they retreated back into the aforementioned mists of my mind. After a few bumps, I managed to get to my desk and get the ideas into my notebook. I was euphoric. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvx1Um520o5YQZolRGjTcihyRMfoUpzBNkzbwQ1WUr0ycwVFAAMor2XT2Yp6KLqN_XKVW13Hswri4lFv7lE3jvcgtMAoL1lpoSp-YHcOtQWdqb5BlxG7lUDM6HU1nUiqhx06Nete1zpoWbDFPa8lFBpiFF9jvIT9ztBZmBzjt2MxN5xfAQbhGFHFTmzA/s784/yellowstone-tv-highlights-the-hilarious-moment-rip-wheeler-and-mia-got-to-know-each-other-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="441" data-original-width="784" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvx1Um520o5YQZolRGjTcihyRMfoUpzBNkzbwQ1WUr0ycwVFAAMor2XT2Yp6KLqN_XKVW13Hswri4lFv7lE3jvcgtMAoL1lpoSp-YHcOtQWdqb5BlxG7lUDM6HU1nUiqhx06Nete1zpoWbDFPa8lFBpiFF9jvIT9ztBZmBzjt2MxN5xfAQbhGFHFTmzA/w320-h180/yellowstone-tv-highlights-the-hilarious-moment-rip-wheeler-and-mia-got-to-know-each-other-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What I think I look like getting out of my truck.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I was excited about writing again. The last few months have been a grind. I wrote, working on some things that will never see the light of day, but this felt different. All the gloom and hesitation I'd been feeling is gone. And it showed. </p><p>My students must've noticed something. They were working on a writing assignment and were diligent and focused. For a few of the classes the only thing you could hear with the tapping of computer keys. It was exciting. Even my most challenging class (one of the most challenging I've had in the 18 years that I've been teaching) were acting different. They lined up at my desk and were asking about their grades, trying to figure out what they could do to improve. I had several constructive conversations with some of the most demanding students about what was going on in class with them and felt like I made a little bit of a connection with them. And then they went to work. No shouting across the room. No TikTok dances in the back of the room. No theatrics and antics. Just work. At the end of class they were eager to show me how much work they had done. I was beside myself. I was smiling.</p><p>I wondered, did my students sense my mood? Was I giving off vibes of some sort? Whatever it was, I was glad for it. </p><p>Writing is a funny thing. When I got up on Friday morning, I had no idea that I was going to have a breakthrough like that. And the icing on the cake was what happened in school. Now comes the difficult part, writing the stuff. It's also the most fun. </p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-74853035818995694012022-10-05T11:56:00.003-07:002022-10-05T11:56:41.296-07:00Am I Good Enough?<p>Every writer has that moment of doubt where they ask themselves that dreaded question comes bubbling up from the tar pits of the mind: Am I good enough? I'm having that moment right now. It's not a pity party either. It's an honest appraisal that I'm having with myself. </p><p>I don't know where this is coming from. I didn't get a rejection letter. I'm not submitting anything right now. It just sort of hit me out of the blue and I'm not sure how to react to it. It started after I lost the scrap of an idea I had on the ride in this morning that blew away in the wind because I didn't write it down right away. I started thinking about the futility of trying to get published and wondering about the answer to the question. It's a good question. A fair question. And I don't know if I have an answer for it. </p><p>I've had two agents, both of whom left me high and dry, so I guess on some level I am good enough. Not good enough to find a publisher, though. But my search for a third agent has garnered barely a drop in the bucket. I've had some nibbles but got nothing on the book that I swore up and down was "the one." It's downright soul crushing. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqvOp-WDgCLPL-qo6eNAC-SQeRJVeQt53WNI-66aIPbx5DCRWEciynb8Pmz2U2vlYOQyue82nLpU5f_2CnqEIBOkUB3Ep34vI516aiGXWVAwUP4QKkoL2k8rhQbK5G3ZZts7MZG_GRZ_7x2f4Zf3NDxuDiyqE0TL0GZU7NJ6ktRJw-G1Bz3Cws9Egrw/s309/Stuart_Smalley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="309" data-original-width="300" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqvOp-WDgCLPL-qo6eNAC-SQeRJVeQt53WNI-66aIPbx5DCRWEciynb8Pmz2U2vlYOQyue82nLpU5f_2CnqEIBOkUB3Ep34vI516aiGXWVAwUP4QKkoL2k8rhQbK5G3ZZts7MZG_GRZ_7x2f4Zf3NDxuDiyqE0TL0GZU7NJ6ktRJw-G1Bz3Cws9Egrw/s1600/Stuart_Smalley.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div>I'm about to go out on submission again, this time with a 90s set YA romcom. I have no idea if there's a market for that but I don't care. It's what I wrote. It'll be the fifth book I'm querying. That seems like a lot. And it has me wondering, am I good enough?<div><br /></div><div>I hope so.<br /><p><br /></p></div>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-66151258131819000112022-08-16T18:32:00.004-07:002022-08-17T10:04:01.876-07:00Shared DNA<p> In the build up for their new show, THE HOUSE OF DRAGONS, HBO played the entire run of GAME OF THRONES. I watched when I could and man, when that show was good it was good. Like really good. And even when it was bad, it was still good. In a strange coincidence, a few weeks back I loaned my copy of A GAME OF THRONES to one of my neighbors and decided to listen to the audiobook. I had audible credits to use and I wasn't sure what to listen to. I had forgotten how good that book is. It's incredible. It got me thinking about how important that book was to me as a writer. It got me thinking about shared DNA.</p><p>What is shared DNA? It's the strands of other work, the things that inspired you or moved you, that exist in your work. These are the building blocks for creatives. Our starting points. We all have them. Watching GOT and listening to AGOT made me remember how much DNA my novel WINTER'S DISCORD shared with ASOIAF. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVr-_MNx-tq3lE2YU4qXet-5WqsZfb8X_yHLZSjScYTs-Uoj_acVe_ekz5ggacaocSFyQEHNOeWKr6FWskhWywo_SXeEALONmlMS1t_X5319H5s0cbrwTsqg36gGGrX31TPu65Kf4RaMVZwmkLyOD_s-tZGTeoTa94jHgslcZRZ4q8Tk99VNhDhEntsQ/s3155/MV5BZjkwZjkzYjYtNjdhYS00ZDZjLThhMmQtZGEwOTg3ODMwMTQ1XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTkxNjUyNQ@@._V1_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2100" data-original-width="3155" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVr-_MNx-tq3lE2YU4qXet-5WqsZfb8X_yHLZSjScYTs-Uoj_acVe_ekz5ggacaocSFyQEHNOeWKr6FWskhWywo_SXeEALONmlMS1t_X5319H5s0cbrwTsqg36gGGrX31TPu65Kf4RaMVZwmkLyOD_s-tZGTeoTa94jHgslcZRZ4q8Tk99VNhDhEntsQ/s320/MV5BZjkwZjkzYjYtNjdhYS00ZDZjLThhMmQtZGEwOTg3ODMwMTQ1XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTkxNjUyNQ@@._V1_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p>After being reminded of the importance of ASOIAF had on me, I spent too much time looking back on the mess that was WINTER'S DISCORD. It was my first real book. (We don't count the chaos that is THE FALLING DARK. That was a practice book.) I say mess not because the book is a mess. It's not. I stand by it being a damn fine book. If I could afford a decent cover artist, I'd release it myself. It was my first experience with the publishing business. I could lament about that but I'd rather focus on shared DNA. </p><p>WINTER'S DISCORD shares so much DNA with A GAME OF THRONES it's almost scary. I really was trying to write the YA version of it. I had a chance to strike while the iron was hot too. Before it was "cool" to write the "YA Game of Thrones." While the tones are different, I look at a lot of the same themes as AGOT, but done in my own way. Plus it share DNA with other things. I can see the strands in my writing. There's DRAGONLANCE, Tamora Pierce and R.A. Salvatore in there as well along with BEVERLY HILLS 90210 and DEGRASSI. I'm going to save more about that for my 99 Inspirations posts. There was a real opportunity there. But "he who shall not be named" really kind of botched it, but again, I don't want to carry on about that right now. Like I said, I still believe in the book and think it's damn good. Maybe some day I'll let everyone read it. </p><p>The WINTER'S DISCORD/AGOT isn't the only book I've written with shared DNA. </p><p>The first time I saw the trailer for the movie THE BLACK PHONE I literally said out loud, "Holy crap, that's THE GIRL IN THE PICTURE!" When I tweeted the trailer at my friend Neil who responded by asking me if the book sold and I forgot to tell everyone. I wish. But GIRL didn't catch on, even though it not only shared DNA with THE BLACK PHONE but IT at a time when the IT movies were all the rage. Maybe it needs another pass. Maybe a full rewrite. But like all my manuscripts, I just can't give up on it. </p><p>I'm presently studying the DNA of "airport" thriller-style books (like I said, more on those later), trying to find the strands that inspire me and that I can use. It's been an uphill battle thus far. It's the genre's subject matter that I'm not experienced with and I don't know if I have a voice for it. But then again, what do I know about swordplay and riding horses and using magic? And that didn't stop me from writing that. I guess we'll find out. </p><p>Look for the DNA that makes up your favorites and use it in your work. Sometimes it's hard to find. sometimes it's right there on the tin. </p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-14702898132578565822022-08-08T19:42:00.002-07:002022-08-08T19:42:41.858-07:00The Spinner Rack<p>The other day I stopped at a small, locally owned grocery store with my kids to pick up some beverages to drink. As we approached the cooler, wedged between it and a pretzel display stood a spinner rack of mass market paperbacks. I stopped dead in my tracks. If you follow this blog at all, you know that I love <a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2018/09/paperback-reader.html">mass market paperbacks</a>. I gleefully spun the rack, absorbing the titles. It was entirely muscle memory. A few thrillers, some romance novels, a few action/adventure airport type books (I've got more to say about airport books, but that's another blog entry) and even a George RR Martin title. I was elated. It brought back so many memories to my earliest experiences with reading. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8JzPuwzgXZmogyWWV1sjvbVPdE7LRASfht8sueZfSSD_aMVoi9V-8UBKybCWTpokpBCFxWCyYjQAWpWDiofDgPpk5S3Z_wNw40FJzLCpyROVgaIshMt3pc4oRSthCAa0Qjijsly5e8GBwZ1KhjkpU8nEnqcjZmHC3f1kl6ZVc2Qgl8NqfUzgMW1v0g/s4032/IMG_3495.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8JzPuwzgXZmogyWWV1sjvbVPdE7LRASfht8sueZfSSD_aMVoi9V-8UBKybCWTpokpBCFxWCyYjQAWpWDiofDgPpk5S3Z_wNw40FJzLCpyROVgaIshMt3pc4oRSthCAa0Qjijsly5e8GBwZ1KhjkpU8nEnqcjZmHC3f1kl6ZVc2Qgl8NqfUzgMW1v0g/s320/IMG_3495.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>Sure, my grandfather took me to the library as a child and I read voraciously, but the spinner was where I learned about storytelling. Combine the the spinner racks at the grocery stores with the wire racks of the department stores of my youth. When my mother would take me along with her to Ames or Hills or Switz's, I would disappear to the aisle of wire racks filled with dozens and dozens of mass market paperbacks. (One time I even snuck out of Hills at Penn Can Mall to go to Economy Book Store. I got in so much trouble for that, she even had me paged.) I would peruse the lurid covers featuring half-naked warrior women or muscled soldiers packing heat against unseen enemies with titles like Raven or The Scorpion Squad. I would sneak them into my mother's cart and read them as soon as I got home.They were books that no twelve year old should've been reading!</p><p>My mother rarely blanched at the requests. The books were usually cheap and reading was reading. They were books that weren't available at the library. They weren't literature, that's for sure, but they were formative to my development as a writer. I recently scoured a few of the online used bookstores and bought some that I remembered. I'm going to try and read them in what remains of the summer. To a lonely kid, these books meant the world to me. </p><p>Seeing the spinner rack got me thinking about my writing. The mass market paperback was the backbone of my education as a writer. My earliest attempts at writing were pastiches of these books that I shared with friends. To be honest, I don't know if my writing has advanced much further than writing pastiches of what I love. I have no lofty ambitions about my literary career. I just want to write a book worthy of the spinner rack. </p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-59823209305389926982022-03-30T16:19:00.001-07:002022-03-30T16:19:34.855-07:00Regarding THE JUSTICE OF KINGS<p>Every so often there is a book that I'm super excited about coming out. The book THE JUSTICE OF KINGS was one of those books. I remembered reading the description of the book and thinking that it sounded like a cool idea. Then I saw the cover and I knew I had to read it. And the wait was worth it. I was lucky enough to get an eARC of the book from Orbit Books and I'm glad that I got it. It was a stellar book</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2yHoLWuoFTUbp82nvszUa74hXtummVPEDPzLbR7WKy5J1fyWSd7xPWkoxP4vubV5vW8JPm-9DGmPpLk-mW7aT1NUdrsErpNmTNMoB343WExnLKJ3PLcHADSWjdfUor4r4LxISJk1HPCcrNhWTj1EHekWWnduehvHe7zYiw_uDt-tU0BZSWa6m2Z9ANQ=s475" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="310" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2yHoLWuoFTUbp82nvszUa74hXtummVPEDPzLbR7WKy5J1fyWSd7xPWkoxP4vubV5vW8JPm-9DGmPpLk-mW7aT1NUdrsErpNmTNMoB343WExnLKJ3PLcHADSWjdfUor4r4LxISJk1HPCcrNhWTj1EHekWWnduehvHe7zYiw_uDt-tU0BZSWa6m2Z9ANQ=s320" width="209" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">THE JUSTICE OF KINGS tells the story of Sir Konrad Vonvalt, one of the King's Justices. Think of them as one part Judge Dredd, one part Elliot Stabler and one part The Witcher. They're a one stop shop for law and order in the vast Empire. Told through the eyes of Vonvalt's young clerk Helena, a foundling given the opportunity to escape her lot in life by becoming the Justice's protégé. While making his rounds, Vonvalt comes across what looks like a simple murder in a town and stays to investigate. He uncovers a vast conspiracy that could undo everything that Vonvalt and his companions fight for. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I said, this book is stellar. For such a dense book, I found it to be a quick read. It's an epic story told on a small scale. Helena is our window into this complex world and it's pitch perfect. We learn the way this complex world operates on the ground level and it never feels spoon fed or info dumpy. The action scenes are just amazing and breathtaking. The real strength of the book, however, is the voice. Swan's writing voice is just masterful. You want to keep reading it because of the voice. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'd highly recommend this book if you're an epic fantasy fan. </div><p><br /></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-50325689890037613842021-09-19T09:45:00.002-07:002021-09-19T09:45:48.043-07:00$9.80<p> One of my favorite pieces of authorial lore is the story of Ray Bradbury's classic novel FAHRENHEIT 451. </p><p>Bradbury had an idea for a story, as many of us do, and had nowhere to write it. He had a newborn at home, so there were no quiet places in his house to work or a place for him to work quietly in the pre-computer 1950s depending on your point of view. He had no money for an office. Where was his friend with an <a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2019/05/where-was-my-friend-with-selectric.html">IBM Selectric</a> typewriter?</p><p>The story goes that while wandering the campus of UCLA, Bradbury heard sound of typing coming from the basement of one of the campus libraries. He found a small room filled with for-hire typewriters. For the price of a dime one could type away for thirty minutes. So off Bradbury went to return bottles or check the cracks of his couch in search of suddenly precious dimes, collecting an entire sack of them. Armed with his sack of dimes, Bradbury returned to the library basement and put his words to paper. Nine days later and ninety-eight dimes later, he completed a story called THE FIREMAN. (Finished, if my math is correct, in forty-nine hours or about five and a half hours a day!) Eventually, that story would be further fleshed out and turned into the classic we know today...a classic that got its first chance to be seen by the public thanks to a hungry young editor of a new magazine that was willing to take a chance on an unpublished novella. That editor? Hugh Hefner. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkH_vk7IPvASfT13g6JXdlrlH3A4bUKC6RiYyoM5dH9KXXLdl7adXeqpEtnFJymoufI0XmetKyr2LA8EpN5EJ3OZdeeuRSwMK-0M0lFt7nbYiof9aT8T5jIBMpEP7-Knqa8oPIqGIUDnx/s400/816-wc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkH_vk7IPvASfT13g6JXdlrlH3A4bUKC6RiYyoM5dH9KXXLdl7adXeqpEtnFJymoufI0XmetKyr2LA8EpN5EJ3OZdeeuRSwMK-0M0lFt7nbYiof9aT8T5jIBMpEP7-Knqa8oPIqGIUDnx/s320/816-wc.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I adore this story and the metaphor of the bag of dimes. We all have that bag of dimes inside of us, it's just whether or not we decide to use them or not on whatever you are passionate about. Maybe it's scrapbooking or smoking meat, it doesn't matter. It's potential and effort represented in dollars and cents. It's measurable and tangible. It's 98 dimes. It's 49 hours of work. And that means something to all of us. </p><p>I'm off to go gets some dimes...who's with me?</p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-47329524028258847842021-08-22T09:08:00.000-07:002021-08-22T09:08:00.852-07:00Regarding MARADAINE<p> Maradaine.</p><p>A massive, sprawling mess of a city brilliantly brought to life by Marshall Ryan Maresca. I've spent a good part of the last year in the city, meeting its denizens, sharing in their complex lives and unraveling the conspiracies that have intertwined said lives. Like the aforementioned city, "Phase One" of the Maradaine Saga is a massive, sprawling epic adventure that throws us, the reader, into the very things that make Maradaine a massive sprawling mess of a city. Split into four very different but intertwined series, the Maradaine Saga is a must read if you like fantasy, especially if you like fantasy set in a honest-to-goodness, living breathing city like Lankhmar, Ankh-Morpork, Minas Tirith, Riverside or Tar Valon.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvpmxdc8gfWSFwuOlxmC_UTsqGMlqSsxILSZWbSIGLARQrTJMnlaDkXmgDPXxt0ESXe-bottEJdpXNckTj-QCYhtsOA9jpOebV0XvEJUYOu_qkGZP2EWRpWJmIC3lhmlZj35ifJHT8W_HG/s1536/Maradaine-Banner-1536x532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="1536" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvpmxdc8gfWSFwuOlxmC_UTsqGMlqSsxILSZWbSIGLARQrTJMnlaDkXmgDPXxt0ESXe-bottEJdpXNckTj-QCYhtsOA9jpOebV0XvEJUYOu_qkGZP2EWRpWJmIC3lhmlZj35ifJHT8W_HG/w461-h159/Maradaine-Banner-1536x532.jpg" width="461" /></a></div><p>In a weird circle of life kind of way, I started the series last year on my family vacation to Cape Cod reading about the adventures of the Thorn of Dentonhill and finished it on this year's family vacation to Cape Cod when I finished the intense and thrilling THE PEOPLE OF THE CITY. </p><p>The series is just terrific and never lets up. In my interactions with MRM on social media, he makes comparisons to the AVENGERS and it's an apropos comparison. Maresca has done something I totally admire in mashing up genres in a brilliant way. The Thorn, our introduction to the world, is part Harry Potter, part Spiderman, part Batman while his his mission to end the rule of Willem Fenmere is more Kingpin than Joker. The Thorn series really shows us both sides of the city. </p><p>Welling and Rainey are Sherlock and Holmes by way of Stabler and Benson but in a massive fantasy city. Welling has the brilliant, Sherlockian brain that is burdened by his late-manifesting magical abilities while Rainey tricks her way on to the force after a career in spycraft that saved her from the streets. The crimes they investigate slowly become more intertwined with those out our very heroes (very ta'veren if you ask me...and that's okay). </p><p>We then meet the Ocean's crew of Maradaine: the Rynax brothers and the band of plucky neighbors that band together to uncover the mystery behind the fire that destroyed all of their homes that is tied to the grand conspiracy that ties them all together. The Iron Man and Hulk of our heroes (sort of), Verci and Asti plot and scheme their way though their own investigation of what caused the fire while protecting their neighborhood, especially when children start going missing. </p><p>The Maradaine Elite, led by Tarians Dayne Heldrin and Jerinne Fendall, is the political thrillers of the Maradaine world. It's Captain America: Winter Soldier but as a fantasy. Dayne is a Boy Scout that finds himself some how always in, as the cool kids on TicToc say, the thick of it. This subseries is the scariest and one of the most prescient books I've ever read as it features the storming of a parliamentary floor by protesters not happy with the way things have gone for them. I was literally reading the book featuring these scenes on January 6th and terrified by the parallels. (There are several others in this series that will make you think he was writing this as things were going on.)</p><p>The entire series comes to a head in the final book of the Maradaine Elite series as "the people of the city" come together to stop a dragon and save the children of the city, There are some nice moments of redemption and hints of what's to come in "Phase Two." The final half of this book is intense and thrilling, like the end of any good Marvel movie. </p><p>Fast-moving, this entire series is fast moving, mostly because you don't want to put it down.</p><p>A few months ago, I complained about "<a href="https://johnzeleznik.blogspot.com/2021/01/bad-input.html">bad input</a>" being part of my recent writing problems. The Maradaine Saga was just what I needed. I've been rolling lately finishing a rewrite on my own "Maradaine" book THE LOST SCIONS. There's a lot of shared DNA between them and that's pushed me to finish the rewrite and I think what I've written is pretty darn good. </p><p>So my time in Maradaine is done for now. I'm moving on to the WHEEL OF TIME now. I'm on book seven, A CROWN OF SWORDS. I'm sure I'll have thoughts on it when I'm done. </p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-21235975345208980052021-06-29T05:44:00.002-07:002021-06-29T05:44:54.891-07:00Regarding IT<p> So, I finished IT today and boy was it something. I don't mean that in a bad way or in a good way, it was just something. I felt like I had to write something about the book before it faded away. For the most part, I really enjoyed the book. It's an epic story of good versus evil with the typical Kingsian trappings that prevent it from being a true masterpiece. The parts are there, but King gets in his own way most of the time. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzSjXZcEkbd1OH0DTLEZCVMVf8o9KgdPEkththNV8A0Or9ypLwml-73lVBBfnJkZ4y6OejusFtnwjTNjVMkGpV5kidCIraOgdUit6Totur0Ohwt9F_t_CV15QPMORvG48LgRoKPzXvCkX/s1200/Screen_Shot_2017_05_08_at_11.17.56_AM.0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzSjXZcEkbd1OH0DTLEZCVMVf8o9KgdPEkththNV8A0Or9ypLwml-73lVBBfnJkZ4y6OejusFtnwjTNjVMkGpV5kidCIraOgdUit6Totur0Ohwt9F_t_CV15QPMORvG48LgRoKPzXvCkX/s320/Screen_Shot_2017_05_08_at_11.17.56_AM.0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>King frustrates me. He's really an amazing writer, I can't deny that, but there are so many frustrating aspects of his writing that prevent me from completely enjoying the story. IT was a prime example of this. It was everything I love and hate about King in one book. So let me break it down by what I loved and what I hated. </p><p>WHAT I LOVED:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Worldbuilding: King knows how to build a world and it's on full display here. Derry and the world around it is brilliant. </li><li>Mythology/Canon: King integrates this world into his "Kingverse" flawlessly while existing all on its own. He builds the mythology of It with some well done but info-dumpy sections cunningly designed as Mike's journals. </li><li>Characters: This might have been the strongest aspect of the novel. We spend a fair amount of time with each character, getting a feeling for them as individuals. He moves between the young and the old versions of the main characters with a deftness that's just impressive while touching on the point of views of lesser characters. </li><li>Pennywise: What a great villain. He's the monster that we all fear as children and as parents. His control over Derry is terrifying and that adults don't seem to notice anything adds to the tension of the story.</li><li>Messing With Structure And Genre: King does a lot of weird but cool stuff with structure in this book. Maybe it's like other King novels, but I haven't read them all. And he messes with genre by adding Mike's journals and straight up reports of what's happening like they are from a nonfiction book about what happened. It's really kind of neat.</li><li>Mood/Tone: This is a King specialty and it really works in spades in this book. </li><li>Hints: King sprinkles in bits where we see It's weaknesses throughout the book and they are rare bits of subtlety from King. If you are reading fast, you'll miss them. </li></ul><div>WHAT I HATED:</div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Fat People: King rivals Rowling on his distaste of fat people. Besides Ben, we never meet a kind or helpful fat person. </li><li>Ickiness: I'm not talking about gore but King writes some things that make you squirm as you read them. He's not particularly good about writing female adolescent characters. There are some predilections there that are borderline creepy. </li><li>Characters: The kids are a little too hypercompetent for my taste. Sure they are scared of It, but keep it together to execute all of their plans that summer, including an underground hideout and smelting silver. My daughter is 13 and I don't see her being as efficient as the Losers' Club. </li><li>Make Bad Decisions For The Sake Of Plot: I dislike this trope immensely and know that it's a staple of the horror genre, but some of the decisions side characters make frustrated me. The entire Audra subplot fell flat for me as did the Tom subplot. They easily could've been cut out and the book wouldn't have been diminished. Bill didn't need additional motivation to kill It. </li><li>Eggs: It felt like this entire thing was just tacked on at the end because King thought of it last minute. </li></ul><div>THINGS I'M NOT SURE ABOUT</div></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Henry Bowers: I thought his arc was incomplete. King invested so much time on him that his ending felt, I don't know...off. I'm glad it was Eddie that did it though. </li></ul><div>IT is an amazing book. It's a huge book with a lot going on in it but it's worth the read. It can be a slog in some spots but it's worth the read. There are parts that are difficult to read because they are cringe-worthy (and I don't mean in a horror way) but if you can get past those, it's really an amazing book. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>I've got THE STAND sitting on my shelf. I listened to about half of it a while back before I quit on it (I don't remember why I did) but I may give it a try again. </div><p></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-62791307366251451392021-06-04T09:21:00.000-07:002021-06-04T09:21:31.175-07:00Lost In The Woods<p> If you know me at all, you know that I always have something to say. But lately, I haven't had much to say. And it feels weird. </p><p>My voice has been missing for quite awhile and I'm not sure what to do about it. I don't know if this piece is part of the solution, but I'm going to give it a try. I want to write something clever about finding my voice, but I don't have it in me. I'm tired. I'm lost in the woods searching desperately for that missing voice.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbRhXS4Zty89a7rsH1rxds3iJUZFb21f_1XItDnLtk23f8SFcYdJok7AMMyKnXaI13-KAcvVPds9q4t7K8G3Rfh8MJjjRvDwjmoZF5mfcxhJJ0bq5UadvQVn1SgjvVz262gl6bmdXavPUP/s275/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbRhXS4Zty89a7rsH1rxds3iJUZFb21f_1XItDnLtk23f8SFcYdJok7AMMyKnXaI13-KAcvVPds9q4t7K8G3Rfh8MJjjRvDwjmoZF5mfcxhJJ0bq5UadvQVn1SgjvVz262gl6bmdXavPUP/s0/images.jpg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>In quiet moments, I worry that I've lost my voice for good. It's terrifying. Ideas are elusive. This piece alone was a struggle to write. My friend <a href="https://bgfay.com/">Brian</a> writes three pages every day. Maybe he knows where the words are. What's funny is that I've actually been writing a lot lately. </p><p>What? That doesn't make sense, does it? How can I feel like I've lost my voice yet still be writing? I don't know. It's a paradox? </p><p>I'm focusing on one project while peeking at another one that I've completely blown up. But something about it doesn't feel right. The writing is awkward and unwieldy. I can't get a good grip on it so it always feels like it's slipping away from me. </p><p>Writing this felt good. I did some work. Got some thoughts on paper and on screen. For now, that's enough. </p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-70721165211290148322021-01-28T14:31:00.001-08:002021-01-28T14:31:21.599-08:00Pea Coats, Flannel Shirts and Turtleneck Sweaters<p>A few weekends ago, my wife and I were watching television. Instead of catching up on WEST WING or OZARK, we stumbled upon the movie THE BROTHER'S MCMULLEN, a movie made in the 90s that <i>reeks</i> of the 90s. So naturally we watched it and I found myself falling into the warm embrace of nostalgia. <br /><br /></p><p>It's not a bad movie. There were thematic elements that spoke to the twenty-two year old me. 1995 wasn't a good year for me. I was listless, alone and miserable. I dreamed of being a writer without putting in the work. I connected to the characters. Barry's longing for the right woman, his younger brother's struggles with his Catholicism and the lasting affect their abusive father left on them. All that kept me tuned in and I certainly could write a long piece about that, but as you can guess by the title of this, that's not what I want to do. I want to write about pea coats, flannel shirts and turtleneck sweaters. </p><p>Now, these three items are timeless but they reached their fashion peak in the 90s, a decade's fashion that was muted when compared to the 70s or 80s. I defy you to name a better look than a turtleneck sweater and a pea coat. You know those memes where the compare the way Millennial dress to Cary Grant or Sean Connery? You notice they don't try that with a pea coat and turtleneck. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Af2on1huAalmr0MS4Po-9e1KA8cwQFCEtxDXnbP3tDigMlVwCbF-7wJU2v3gYzgWLHrLRLwekMEffUNa0FeX3YOrIDO8nEqQpXBmBFqMDrhnoZ3T6nYoVVwDu1LwbBejg39ZSgXq2t1Q/s2048/Compare.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Af2on1huAalmr0MS4Po-9e1KA8cwQFCEtxDXnbP3tDigMlVwCbF-7wJU2v3gYzgWLHrLRLwekMEffUNa0FeX3YOrIDO8nEqQpXBmBFqMDrhnoZ3T6nYoVVwDu1LwbBejg39ZSgXq2t1Q/s320/Compare.png" /></a></div><br /> See, I told you. <p></p><p>I always liked turtlenecks. I was a skier in high school, so I always wore turtlenecks under my sweaters. The first time I saw them combined, it was a revelation. I felt like a World War 2 British commando when I wore them.I'm sure if I looked now I could find one but I'm more of a Henley man now. </p><p>If you know me at all, you know I love flannel. Flannel will never go away. It may wane and wax in stylishness, but it will always exist. <br /></p><p>Pea coats were my jam. I loved them. Still love them. I was obsessed with them before it was cool. </p><p>The high collar. The double-breasted, wide lapels. The buttons. They are just cool. They make a statement. I've included a variation of them in every fantasy story that I write because they are that book. I've owned a pea coat. I'm a different person when I wear one. They look good on me. I can be anything when I'm wearing them. A magic-wielding warrior. A secret agent. That cool teacher that still wears his scarf after he's taken his coat off. (Okay, okay, I've been that guy.) There's power in that coat. </p><p>Now, if I could just find a pair of Levi's Silver Tab Button-fly jeans.</p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-25939026396631462232021-01-23T11:32:00.001-08:002021-01-23T11:33:37.595-08:00Bad Input <p> Growing up there was a movie called <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091949/">SHORT CIRCUIT</a>. It was a classic story. A military robot is struck by lightning and it erases his programming. He escapes from the military and goes on a quest for "input." In many ways, like the robot in the movie, writers are seeking input. People are a lot like Johnny Five (the name the robot gives himself). We need input. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03qha3XC1IxrwG_mAtlh-70QSmKAiBcMqyZEL8Ycc2kg2_DWF7O7LkJtTIzpYGmwxtx7NuXOB2HJVcaibdBx6AHDrvyByC0w96MnK-HSsAhDh6lZ9sIxs1BLftHAb_ZE7ulEni30zU30J/s1280/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj03qha3XC1IxrwG_mAtlh-70QSmKAiBcMqyZEL8Ycc2kg2_DWF7O7LkJtTIzpYGmwxtx7NuXOB2HJVcaibdBx6AHDrvyByC0w96MnK-HSsAhDh6lZ9sIxs1BLftHAb_ZE7ulEni30zU30J/s320/maxresdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I've been having trouble writing lately. I just can't seem to get traction on anything. It happens periodically. I'll take something for a test drive then scrap it. I'd love to give some big, writerly reason, but truthfully it's that the project just isn't working for me. I was discussing my troubles with my friend Brian and I mentioned that 2020 wasn't a great reading for me. Brian agreed and it got me thinking about a connection between the two. And there is. </p><p>For you to have good output, you need good input. </p><p>It's not rocket science. Stephen King says that you can't be a good writer without being a good reader and he's right. Unlike previous years, nothing in 2020 grabbed me in a way to move me. I can't remember the last book that did that. But it's not just reading, it's everything. I didn't even write a year in review post, because who wants to review this year?</p><p>The pandemic shut EVERYTHING down, drastically reducing our input. Movies and televisions shows screeched to a halt. Even sports for the most part were gone. There was nothing new coming in. I mean you can only watch The Mystery of the Abandoned and make sourdough so many times. With that in mind, it's not hard to see why I'm struggling with good output. My input has kind of sucked. </p><p>So how do I fix this? </p><p>I don't know. I mean I have ideas. Do I revisit what inspired me before or do I keep trying to find things to inspire me? I don't know if there's a good answer. I keep saying to myself that I want to write something that the thirteen-year-old me would've liked. I'm still hunting for the input to inspire that. </p><p>For now, I just have to keep grinding and maybe I'll find it. </p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-5522452930782012352021-01-15T08:27:00.000-08:002021-01-15T08:27:53.040-08:00Stop Arguing. No Seriously, Can We Stop Arguing?<p> I'm so tired of arguments...more accurately argument writing. As a "writing teacher" (or a teacher that writes) I am frustrated by the absurd focus on argument writing in our present writing curriculum. I'm fucking tired of it. All the writing we seem to do in school now is argument writing and then we wonder why kids hate writing. </p><p>The focus on argument writing isn't our decision, I assure you. If given the choice, any writing teacher worth their salt wouldn't use it as the entire basis for an entire writing curriculum but because some expert that likely hasn't been in a classroom in at least a decade declared it the end all, be all of writing the misguided, short-sighted people that run our state education system have decided that it should be the focus for not only English classes, but ALL classes. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvK2Oev9zbVP7Q_c0XQTTJ4czFaM3ehQVjcbQMMUcLfA7IE6QL7vwJ5yZKnCSOKSjSkO-QR4ZESGYxBxvU8lZbc1fGkwXVOPGdd-OYqf5e9OXcO3tDVuo8ffKxjB8fp198MQEhiUEHlHN5/s350/147ea8f2a91ecf888fd1fcc6224ec291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="271" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvK2Oev9zbVP7Q_c0XQTTJ4czFaM3ehQVjcbQMMUcLfA7IE6QL7vwJ5yZKnCSOKSjSkO-QR4ZESGYxBxvU8lZbc1fGkwXVOPGdd-OYqf5e9OXcO3tDVuo8ffKxjB8fp198MQEhiUEHlHN5/s320/147ea8f2a91ecf888fd1fcc6224ec291.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>It's especially relevant to me as an English teacher since most years we give the NYS ELA Regents three times a year where the "argumentative essay" counts as 40% of the exam's grade and therefore 40% of one of their English graduation requirements. It's a major concern to many of my colleagues that teach grades 9-11 where much of the focus is preparing them for that state test. They need to focus on it or many of our students won't pass, therefore preventing their graduation and dinging us not just once but twice with the state of New York, as we are judged on graduation rate and ELA scores. It's reduced writing instruction to teaching formulas for meeting the rubric requirements and little else.</p><p>I loathe formulaic writing. (To me the words "five paragraph essay" are the equivalent of the f word and the c word having a baby raised by every racial epithet.) It binds and constricts. It also does the exact job it intends to do: create generations of rubber stamps. Everyone writes the same because that is the expectation. There is no deviation. No voice. No audience. Just the form and function. And that's killing me. Slowly. Every day. </p><p>I don't blame my colleagues. They are doing what they need to do so we can stay on the up and up with the state. (And they do an amazing job of doing it.) Our school has so many chips stacked against it we look like poor Mike McDermott facing Teddy KGB in ROUNDERS (the first time). The thought is that we HAVE to teach formula because we have kids that are four or five grade levels behind in reading or ENL students required to achieve an impossible level of proficiency in a language they are just starting to learn. (Along with occasional learned helplessness.) It's worked to get many kids through the test but I can't help but wonder if we're doing more damage than good by doing this. I think the answer is an obvious yes. </p><p>For kicks, I went back and pulled out the Regents I took when I was in 11th grade. (For official purposes, it was the June 1990 exam.) I can't tell you right now what I got on it and I'm not going to go to my old school to get my transcript to see. We can assume that I passed (I only took it once) and for now we can leave it at that. (Seventeen-year-old John was a different creature than forty-seven year old John, so I may not have been as successful as I think I was.) The test was vastly different and I would say that while it was more vigorous, it wasn't as constricting. I also remember that English 11 wasn't Argumentative Test Prep 11. </p><p>There was a listening part and three reading comprehension passages....not too different from the present test. There was a spelling section and a vocabulary section. (I would imagine that vocab was an integral part of our 11th grade material.) But it was the writing where things diverged. You were given choice in what you wrote. A respectable 55% of your grade came from writing. You had to essentially write two "essays" of about 250 words. The first writing part was a straight up literary analysis, but you were given two choices of how to frame your analysis of something you read, presumably during the school year. (I don't remember what I wrote about.) This was worth 25%. A whopping 30% was dedicated to what was basically a free composition of your choice. You were given eight options...EIGHT! They ranged from a position piece (close to an argumentative essay but not quite) to an assortment of personal narratives. (Again, I'm not sure what I wrote about, but I have a notion it was something out of the ordinary.) Not to sound like the "get off my lawn" guy, but there was an emphasis on writing that the student chose. Writing that the student wanted to do. I don't know what our students would do with that much freedom. I don't know, maybe pass?</p><p>Why did we move away from choice? Why did we hem students in with just two essays to write with absolutely no choice in what they are writing about? It's about conformity to a system. <br /><br />Last year I read a phenomenal book called <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/39827380-why-they-can-t-write?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=Yl48YIYpHD&rank=1">WHY CAN'T THEY WRITE</a> and it's a mind altering (if not life changing) book. One of the suggestions the author makes is letting student write what they want. That's not to say we can't assign specific types of writing, but freedom of choice is paramount to a student's success in writing. We pontificate about differentiation and culturally responsive teaching yet when it comes to writing we will square peg-round hole our students for the sake of a stupid test meant to shape everyone into a round hole. It's beyond frustrating. Teachers are handcuffed by the belief of whichever member of the Board of Regents decided this was the most efficient way to measure student success in writing. Again, it's no wonder our kids hate to write. </p><p>Most of my colleagues think I'm nuts. I can HEAR their eyes rolling when I open my mouth during online meetings. Maybe I should just follow the advice I've been given most of my life and just shut my mouth. <br /><br />Yeah, I doubt that too. </p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-77738880622026741002020-11-17T12:09:00.002-08:002020-11-18T10:51:59.233-08:00The Goulash-Pierogi Cold War<p>I didn't have goulash until I got married and my wife made it for us. The ingredients are simple: onion, ground beef, tomato sauce and pasta (elbow preferred). This is where the cold war begins. With these ingredients. </p><p>It started about 18 months ago when we served goulash for dinner. My father, who was in town, grumbled something about how it wasn't goulash but a red meat sauce. He contended that goulash was a meat stew. This after scarfing down two plates and practically licking the plate. Nothing more came of it and we went along with our merry lives. Then a hot spot flared up thanks to my daughter and some pierogis. </p><p>My sweet daughter has a habit of calling things by different names and long ago called pierogis "potato dumplings." She's not entirely wrong but this isn't the time for food anthropology or semantics, so I never made a big deal of it. While my parents were in town, we had them for dinner one night. This is where my daughter fanned the flames with this conversation:</p><p><span>"Yay, potato dumplings!"</span><br /></p><p><span><span> </span><span>"What did you call that?" my father asked. </span><br /></span></p><p><span><span><span>"A dumpling."</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span>"It's a pierogi."</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span>"I know, but I call it a dumpling."</span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span>"It's a pierogi."</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span>"Yeah, a dumpling."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p>This Abbot and Costello like exchange went on for about a minute more. I could sense my father's rising ire from the sink where I was washing dishes. He walked by me to go to his room and growled, "When you get a minute, I want to talk to you."</p><p>I looked over to my wife who shrugged her shoulders. </p><p>I went to the senior apartment attached to our house and sat down on the couch across from my dad.</p><p><span><span> </span><span>"What do you know about our heritage and where we came from?"</span></span><br /></p><p><span><span><span>"Astoria, Queens?" I responded. </span></span></span>(Kinda hard to figure out where my daughter gets it from/)</p><p><span><span><span><span> </span><span>"I know you are raising your kids Italian but they know nothing of our heritage."</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span>I was speechless. What culture? Blue collar? Middle class? American? I was seriously confused. The accusation stung. Our family heritage is murky at best and down right swampy on my dad's side. But I let him talk and nodded then went back to doing what I was doing. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span>Cold war flare up subsided. My peaceful reaction worked. Maybe I really have matured. Then a few nights later, we made goulash again. My father once again walked by while I was once again doing dishes. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span>"What do you call that?"</span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span>"Goulash."</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> "Hmph," followed by the same glance I remembered from being a kid that was about to get in trouble. I said nothing and let him go along his way. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5NEtjbWdZbmfPAhkcwNYSaHodUljJPmLhWNy6m4BC5o7-4Tkt7AuPmtJ2Ro8bB8sSs9yQZcZtlKLCbvA9KSRgYJKkVsCoTdmT_Mu1BSFV0aaGAPQYMs2_RlcRUg9Go2i5vlidZ-ms8ow/s640/image0+%25281%2529.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="510" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5NEtjbWdZbmfPAhkcwNYSaHodUljJPmLhWNy6m4BC5o7-4Tkt7AuPmtJ2Ro8bB8sSs9yQZcZtlKLCbvA9KSRgYJKkVsCoTdmT_Mu1BSFV0aaGAPQYMs2_RlcRUg9Go2i5vlidZ-ms8ow/s320/image0+%25281%2529.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><span><br /></span><p></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span>A few days after that someone put up a meme about this very topic and I reposted it on my Facebook page to discover if I was not alone. Nearly all of my friends said they called what we make (B) was goulash and that A (what my father calls goulash) was stew. I felt vindicated. However, one friend that travels to Eastern Europe quite a bit pointed out that A is actually goulash, so I consulted Google and it turns out we're both right. B is known as American goulash. I never did tell my dad but I felt pretty good about it. I'd rather keep the cold war simmering instead of a full out nuclear assault. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-48897229022294440602020-08-30T13:57:00.006-07:002020-08-30T13:58:29.174-07:00The Maradaine Saga<p>I like supporting good people that create good art. (Hell, I'll support good people that create so-so art.) Especially people that are nice to me and come from the same place I do, Central New York. Even though he's a Texan now, you never quite lose being a CNYer. So I'm here to support my friend <a href="http://mrmaresca.com/wp/">Marshall Ryan Maresca</a> (friend might be a stronger word, but it sounds better than Internet acquaintance), the author of the Maradaine Saga.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioy9ZJbJZ6gYlm5uCoEiDvuEHtKeZVnnzHfoBq0BZ1dOUr_sWNwJuj9PBuZEkbKapxc1EE_WHrhofYSLSOPm9NfgtL27GyQatKt-sfIA7rzO1Ni09PgW7scyMbIYy0wZEmDDlh_RLRNZWa/s1200/EZCgNcoXsAA29iD.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="1200" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioy9ZJbJZ6gYlm5uCoEiDvuEHtKeZVnnzHfoBq0BZ1dOUr_sWNwJuj9PBuZEkbKapxc1EE_WHrhofYSLSOPm9NfgtL27GyQatKt-sfIA7rzO1Ni09PgW7scyMbIYy0wZEmDDlh_RLRNZWa/w320-h173/EZCgNcoXsAA29iD.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Today is Sunday August 30th and I've decided to embark on a quest and I'm inviting you to accompany me to the Archduchy of Maradaine. We're on a tight schedule since the final book of the Maradaine Saga, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/38651576-the-people-of-the-city?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=DMIQyAx5UE&rank=1">THE PEOPLE OF THE CITY</a>, comes out on October 26th. I've come up with a plan for us to finish the eleven books that make up the Saga and smoothly transition into the final book. </p><p>I've preordered my copy, you should too, preordering is important. Like all quests, we need a map, so I've created a pacing guide (I'm a HS English teacher, I can't help it) for you to follow to get you there. I'll post something here on Fridays where I'll discuss what I read and any of you can respond. So, here we go and I'll see you on the other side. </p><p>So you understand, the number is the last chapter you should read for that day. </p><p>Here's the link to the <a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1axgzQ4kvmnCrCP-tPEDriuvu8Li1qh9Jfa03kvkGuT0/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">pacing guide</a>.</p><p><br /></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-47119915678906082092020-08-21T06:24:00.003-07:002020-08-21T06:32:10.296-07:00Hey Netflix, How About This?<p> A few weeks back the Internet was ablaze with the rumor that Netflix was looking for the next "family friendly fantasy story" a la Star Wars or Harry Potter. I sort of read it as they were looking for something original and I have ideas. As as joke (but not really) I posted an "ad" on Facebook about anyone wanting to work with me on creating said project. A few nibbled by bringing up IPs they were interested in and one grabbed my attention. I was initially opposed but the poster convinced me that it could work thanks to THE WITCHER. So I set about planning the seasons for said IP. (I spent a whole day planning and casting two seasons of a fictional OFFICE-esque series about where I work and it's amazing.) So, without further adieu and gilding of the lilies, may I show you my plan for DRAGONLANCE: THE WAR OF THE LANCE.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5s84MTtpdDIQkR3ZYFEWew6ArF5SKLvXo_MoDAZ-AFQVyNuL2gw1QX0Vak-EcpBQaKEIeOVC5UwGmPgIN22dj138lUS2RU3HDHDwQdbP1JZsXKIsa0ZPcc8FtcMyIIZ-fJHvFb20EYXzn/s1600/larry-elmore-dragonlance-chronicles.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="658" data-original-width="1600" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5s84MTtpdDIQkR3ZYFEWew6ArF5SKLvXo_MoDAZ-AFQVyNuL2gw1QX0Vak-EcpBQaKEIeOVC5UwGmPgIN22dj138lUS2RU3HDHDwQdbP1JZsXKIsa0ZPcc8FtcMyIIZ-fJHvFb20EYXzn/w400-h164/larry-elmore-dragonlance-chronicles.png" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>So, I always felt as formative as DL was to me, reading it as an adult left me wanting. There was so much potential for the books that a TV series could bring back. We'd need three seasons, one for each of the book. The first season should be 8 episodes, second and third 10, with some expansion of what happens in books 2 and 3. So, using the chapter epigraphs, I came up with the titles. So, away we go.<br /><br />Season One: Dragons of Autumn Twilight </p><p>Best cover by a mile and the "smallest" of the three books. There's not much I would add to this. The desire to put Kitiara in this part is strong but she belongs in season 2, especially since she's maybe the most important casting besides Tanis and Raistlin. I don't know about casting but if <a href="#" id="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm2080328/?ref_=tt_cl_t6" name="https://www.imdb.com/name/nm2080328/?ref_=tt_cl_t6">Kelsey Asbille</a> isn't Goldmoon, I might fight people. Anyway, on to the episode titles:<br /></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>The Old Man's Party</li><li>Message In the Stars</li><li>The Forestmaster</li><li>Smoke In The East</li><li>The Broken City</li><li>Night of Dragons</li><li>The Speaker of the Suns</li><li>The Dragon Highlord</li></ol><div>Season Two; Dragons of Winter's Night:</div><div><br /></div><div>For this season we expand a little bit and pull in some stuff from out of trilogy books to bulk up our story. I almost bumped this to 12 episodes, but 10 is enough. We add some more of the infighting and politics among Solamnic Knights, give Kitiara some time to shine and I for one can't wait to see the ice boats. So, episode titles (these are the first batch that contain non-epigraph titles, enjoy):</div><div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>The Hammer of Kharas</li><li>The Blue Lady's War<br /></li><li>Tarsis The Beautiful</li><li>Waking Dreams</li><li>The Song of the Ice Reaver</li><li>The Red Wizard and His Wonderful Illusions</li><li>The Oath and The Measure</li><li>My Honor Is My Life</li><li>The Shattered Sun</li><li>The Princess and The Blue Lady</li></ol><div>NOTE: I'm really proud of 9 and 10. Episode 9 is going to be the "Red Wedding" episode for a lot of people. It's truly one of the more beautiful moments of the series. </div></div><div><br /></div><div>Season Three: Dragons of Spring's Dawning</div><div>When I re-read this a few years back, I was so disappointed in this book. It's the shortest by far. The war was over in one chapter. I get that they wanted to focus on the main characters and I'm sure the authors were under tremendous pressure to finish (I'd still love a "director's cut" of the books) them, but I felt this book was rushed. We have another ten episodes for this season and some expansion is necessary. So here's my episode titles and again we've gone off the tracks with episode titles, though most are from the epigraphs.<br /><br /><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Flight from Darkness Into Darkness</li><li>The Chronicler and the Mage</li><li>The Oath of the Dragons</li><li>The Council of Whitestone</li><li>The Golden General</li><li>The Penalty of Failure</li><li>The Old Man and the Golden Dragon</li><li>The Queen of Darkness</li><li>The Debt Repaid</li><li>For Good or For Evil</li></ol><div>So, that's how I'd break down the Dragonlance trilogy into a three season, 28 episode series. There's more details, but I spared you from them. So, Netflix...HBO...Hulu...whoever, I'm here and available. I think there are parts of Central New York that would be great for exteriors and I'll bet we can get some tax breaks, especially with a CNYer at the helm. </div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-43643532866580967492020-08-16T07:12:00.006-07:002020-08-16T07:22:04.737-07:00The Imposter Syndrome<p> A few months back I was catching up with some of my "boys" via Zoom. It was in the middle of the first month of the pandemic and I think our little group was jonesing for some interaction with people we didn't share DNA. One of the things my wife says is that I need to be more social and she's not wrong. (Yet she thinks that my having a writing session once a month with my friend <a href="https://bgfay.com/" target="_blank">Brian</a> is weird.) She's joked that I've been more social since the pandemic started. </p><p>Conversation from our little group chat moved from what we were drinking to what we've been cooking (lots of sourdough) to how we've been staying in some kind of shape (my complaining about walking stairs 3-5x a day to some of them running 7 miles a day). It was nice to talk to adults about adult things. (Again, not that I don't talk to my wife but sometimes you need more!) At one point in the conversations someone said something about writing and I griped around the malaise I was in related to my writing. This sparked something in one of my friends and he asked me perhaps the most terrifying question you could ever ask a writer: What motivates you to write?</p><p>I froze. I never have a good answer. Or at least the way that I feel.<br /><br />Before I continue, confession time: I always feel that when I talk about writing with people, I bore them to tears. It's the reason I know that I'll never do a TED talk. It's not that I'm not passionate about writing or that I have what I think are interesting things to say about writing, it's just every ounce of self-loathing and self-doubt bubbles up slides on up to the front of my brain and makes me feel boring. (Comically, I don't have this problem with students.)</p><p>My friend asked the question earnestly. He doesn't know me very well so he hasn't lived through all my trials and tribulation of trying to be a famous author. The question really crippled me. I'm usually loquacious but I couldn't talk. A voice in the back of my head snickered and whispered, "Yeah, smart ass, what motivates you?"</p><p>I could say something poetic like the written word is the very marrow of our souls.<br /><br />Nah, not me.</p><p>I could say that I hate blank paper and I need to fill it up with words.<br /><br />Closer, but not quite there. </p><p>Because I want to be rich.</p><p>Nah.</p><p>"Because I can't not write," I answered. It's a stock answer for me. But it's also incredibly true. In the chat, one of my friends that's read my stuff commented that I'm a very good writer. I was embarrassed and humbled. I always feel weird talking about my writing out loud, it's really a sort if imposter's syndrome. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNyMlOrjgl-eV2iSDMKDGxBlC0EtXq1Fdxb7FSc13ajXC7Gbfz5hMgdjWIHmXvqRXCWTiY-tT001yLjbGyTvclAhDriMt1ldg_z3_MQnxAllmEiZzl3mE4j-P1g3PIzGaKZhqMLHGp7ERr/s1024/102615bucks-carl-sketch-jumbo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNyMlOrjgl-eV2iSDMKDGxBlC0EtXq1Fdxb7FSc13ajXC7Gbfz5hMgdjWIHmXvqRXCWTiY-tT001yLjbGyTvclAhDriMt1ldg_z3_MQnxAllmEiZzl3mE4j-P1g3PIzGaKZhqMLHGp7ERr/w400-h266/102615bucks-carl-sketch-jumbo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Imposter's syndrome is a psychological phenomenon in which people are unable to internalize and accept their accomplishment. This is me to a T about just about everything I do successfully in my life. I'm never satisfied when I cook and I'm constantly trying to get better, though my ribs are so good you can't talk loudly about them or the meat will fall off the bone. There's always a voice in the back of my head nibbling at any sense of accomplishment in my head. I always feel like when someone asks about my writing, I always feel like I can see their eyes glaze over as I'm talking. It's hard to see glaze on a computer screen. As I tried to expand on my answer, I heard the voice in my head, so I talked faster so I could think it before they could. </p><p>"You're a fraud."</p><p>Two agents, one abandoned the other I fired. A few very close calls with publishers. </p><p>"You talk a big game."</p><p>My friend that's read my stuff props me up by earnestly saying how good my writing is and I aw-shucked my way through that. When I said something about it being boring, they said that it's really interesting and that they can see my passion.<br /></p><p>"They have to say that."</p><p>I don't know if they do or don't but it felt kind of good to talk about it out loud. </p><p>"Usually you have to pay $100 an hour for that, ding dong."</p><p>Imposter or not, I write because I can't stop writing, God have mercy on your soul.</p><p>"He won't, he made you a writer for Chris-okay, okay, I'll stop there."</p><p><br /></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-96795048432257712.post-27722623768251727792020-08-07T13:06:00.001-07:002020-08-07T13:06:23.434-07:00A New Hobby<p>At the start of summer, my son Cooper asked for a birdfeeder. I'm not 100% sure why, but it's not an extravagant or out of left field request, so we bought it for him. It took me a week or so to buy the seed then another week to set it up. Since I put it up, I can't get enough of it, seeing if I can identify the birds that visit my little bird feeder. I obsess over seeds and making sure there's enough for them. I'm not this diligent with my dog. You know it's weird when your wife says that she got you a surprise and when you find out it's a 40 pound bag of bird seed, there aren't enough kisses to show your appreciation.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyA3fhwXv7wvVbofJbpv3mQ63NG0PpwAQKUg-msY0OvTSf0Vc1Mk_oybGSWl2IUm1W_5VngNIgGEMOCMKTdYyfom1RFpPHobJz9c3fa2AN65Ii_V61EF5m80e88OPBXDkWlFFyMSuDK43d/s2048/IMG_2115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1266" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyA3fhwXv7wvVbofJbpv3mQ63NG0PpwAQKUg-msY0OvTSf0Vc1Mk_oybGSWl2IUm1W_5VngNIgGEMOCMKTdYyfom1RFpPHobJz9c3fa2AN65Ii_V61EF5m80e88OPBXDkWlFFyMSuDK43d/s640/IMG_2115.jpg" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>I'll perch on the front porch as quietly as I can, my writing notebook and pen in hand, though I don't write when the feeder is busy, I'm too busy meeting with my new friends. There's been the requisite robins and at least three different kinds of sparrows. I call them the Jets (Robins) and Sharks (Sparrows). Lately the Jets haven't been visiting as much. Quite a few doves join the mix along with a real gang of grackles that unsuccessfully tries to intimidate the other, smaller birds. A few couples join the buffet. A pair of cardinals, Ralph and Alice, that visit several times a day while a pair of pigeons, Henry and Karen, show up the same time every day to partake (Bonus points if you get the reference, double bonus points if you REALLY get the reference). On a rainy afternoon the smorgasbord was attended by a pair of orioles. They're aristocrats names Thurston and Lovey. I saw a bright yellow goldfinch and a red crested lark.Then there's Bart the Blue Jay. That little bastard will sit on the power line and squawk at me until I go inside. I won't even go into the mammals that join the group, which has included several rabbits, two chipmunks and possibly a raccoon.</p><p>A few days ago, I gave my wife the rundown of what I'd seen that day. She looked at me with something short of incredulity and said, "I didn't know that you were that into birds."</p><p>"Neither did I," I responded. </p><p>Bird watching is serious business and I don't know if I'm built for it. This is not a disparagement of the activity. It requires a great deal of patience and diligence, two things I am not equipped for. But I'm trying.</p><p>A few afternoons ago, I was returning home from running errands. As I walked up the driveway, I looked over to my, I mean my son's bird feeder. It was in need of a refill. I scanned the remaining area and saw at least 20 birds staring back at me like the movie THE BIRDS. I'm old enough that it still scared me. I moved a little faster as I waddled my way, penguin-like, into the house. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>John Zeleznikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10301257444191880316noreply@blogger.com2